Dust in the Wind
by broken-hearted wings
Summary: For every laugh, there's a tear. For every conversation, there's silence. Drabbles based on random events in Sam and Dean's lives.
1. Magenta

**~!~ Hey, soooo, I had my bestie write up a list of a hundred words that I'm to use to write a hundred drabbles with. It took me awhile to decide on a fandom, but since I haven't written anything Supernatural lately and the first season is now airing again on TNT, I decided on Supernatural. First season = FAVSEASONEVER. Lovely, right? I hope everyone enjoys! I actually had to try and make this one short, but most of them will be under five hundred words. Please review, you'd make my day. **

**Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine. Psh. Season Six would be waaaaayyyy different if that were so.**

**Prompt #1: magenta ~!~**

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><p>"<em>Holy<em> crap." Dean says it like he just ran into a wall and Sam almost does as he ducks into the motel room, saying,

"I don't think crap was ever holy, Dean." As he's lugging both his bag and Dean's over his shoulder like he's Santa Claus. The mental image isn't pleasing and Sam opens his mouth to tell Dean so, but then he sees the motel room and stops as abruptly as Dean did.

"Dude. I don't even know what to call this." Dean's astonishment is matched by Sam's dropping both the bag and his jaw. "It's like- waging war. On people's eyes."

Sam's still speechless. The motel's walls are painted in a brilliant shade of magenta, one that's nearly blinded with the central lighting on. The two lamps above the beds are shaped like single flower blossoms, blooming out of the wall and clashing harshly with the magenta-colored walls. There's a round table opposite the two beds and its tablecloth looks like a reject from an unsuccessful garage sale. The dusty farmhouse red and white pattern only adds to Sam's newfound headache.

Dean's examining the ancient TV like he thinks it might come to life and try to eat him. Sam doesn't really blame him either. The thing looks like it was last used in _The Golden Days_.

"It's like we've jumped into the Wizard of Oz." Dean says, now investigating the yellow chairs that sit around the obnoxious table. Sam shakes his head and picks up their bags again.

"Why do you know about the Wizard of Oz and not Mary Poppins?" Sam asks, putting Dean's bag on the bed closest to the door and ignoring the ruffled pillowcases. Dean ignores the comment and protests,

"No, wait, I don't want that bed!" Sam frowns, not following. Dean smiles, like he thinks he's hilarious.

"If any midgets show up wanting lollipops, you can deal with them. Sasquatch."

"… They're munchkins, Dean."

"Wow, dude, really? How are we related?"

"Jerk." Sam snaps, annoyed.

"Bitch." Dean grins, sitting gingerly in one of the yellow mini-chairs.

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><p><strong>~!~ I'll do my best to update weekly! You have my permission to hunt me down and threaten me with spoons, stuffed animals, and Justin Bieber music if I don't. ~!~<strong>


	2. Seashore

**~!~ It's me again! This one turned out waaayy longer than I expected, which means they'll probably vary a bit in length. It'll be a challenge, trying to write anything in just a hundred words. But please let me know what you think! This one was meant to be heartwarming, just like the first one was meant to be amusing. Tell me if that's the impression you got! Or if you want to see any particular characters or events played out, I'm open for suggestions and/or requests. =) Also, I'm not sure if Sam and Dean ever visited a beach, but considering how John was too busy to even take them to a baseball game when they were little, I'm guessing he didn't have much time for a beach either. If I'm wrong, then let me know, and I'll tweak it. Review away, guys, it makes me happy to hear from y'all! **

**Another note: if you see any varying in the tenses here, it's because I keep writing in present tense instead of past tense. Let me know if you caught any mistakes that I didn't find on my read-through! **

**Prompt #2: seashore ~!~**

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><p>It takes about twenty seconds for Dean to realize that Sam's not walking alongside him. His useful "brother-is-having-a-moment alarm" went off and he turned around, raising his eyebrows, and traced his steps back to his wayward brother, who was gazing at the ocean like he's never seen one before. Dean's pretty sure that he has, sometime along the road. There'd been a job in Miami one time; surely Sam had caught a glimpse.<p>

"Please tell me you're staring at a hot chick in a bikini and not the sunset, because that'd be just weird." He quips, shoving his hands in his pockets and giving Sam a look. He certainly doesn't have _that_ look on his face, unfortunately, but just looks like he's been thinking about something for way too long. Sam comes out of his daydream with a blink, glancing back at Dean, and his eyes are blank.

"Sorry." He says it quietly, like he's not sure what he's apologizing for but he's trying anyway. Dean shrugs, still gazing up at him.

"You okay?" And oh hey! There's the big brotherly instinct that he can never conquer. Because God knows what Sam's getting himself into next. The kid can hardly go anywhere without a disaster happening nearby. Dean's pretty sure that Sam's got that Winchester curse just as much, if not worse, than Dean or their Dad. But seriously, enough with the sad thoughts and long faces. They're on the beach, they should be enjoying themselves.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." _Of course you are. You only want to have those weepy emotional moments when it's me that's in trouble, huh?_ Dean notes the way Sam's half-frowning at him, like he doesn't quite understand and huffs out a loud breath of air.

"If you say so. We're on the beach, okay? No job, just relaxing for a day. Looking at hot babes, eating good food, buying souvenirs. The whole nine yards."

Sam stares.

"Souvenirs?" His voice actually cracks and Dean winces. "What- what the hell, Dean? We just went five rounds with a axe-wielding ghost, why would we-"

"Because we need a break." Dean interrupts, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes. He was going to get this point across. "We're not just hunters, we're people, okay? I know things've been rough lately, but I think we should just relax and take things slow for a day. Is that so strange?"

Sam's still looking at him weirdly, so he continues.

"We're hunters, yeah, but even we deserve a vacation. And you," He pointed. "You _need_ a break, okay? So I'm calling one in today. Let's just walk around and stop acting like we're carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders."

"Acting?" But there's a tilt to Sam's mouth and he hid a small grin as he ducked his head and shuffled for a moment. "Look, Dean-"

"No buts. This one's on me."

Sam put his hands up in defeat and winced at the movement.

"Hey, no, I'm not complaining. It feels like forever since we've had real food. But man, this's just weird. Hearing all that outta _your_ mouth? Weren't you the one pushing for all these hunts in the first place? 'Picking up where he left off, family business, etc.'?"

Dean shrugged, but he knew Sam knew that he skirted around the point. Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean ignored how similar the expression was to his own when he'd doubled back just a minute ago.

"Okay, well, this time it went a little too far, okay? Man, I'm not cool with you playing matyr all the time, even if it is for a hunt. I just think we should take it slower for awhile."

Sam has this shrewd look on his face.

"So this is because of last night? When I missed my shot and got clawed by the sonofabitch?" Dean doesn't really need reminding. There'd been blood everywhere and Sam had been out of it half the night. Dean had seriously considered going to the hospital, up until Sam actually started remembering what year they were in and who Paris Hilton was. He'd never forget that feeling, the one he got every time he looked up, and Sam was falling, yelling, bleeding. Not getting back up.

"Yeah. Yeah, and you shouldn't have missed that shot, you dumbass. He was right in front of you." Sam shifted, annoyed, but before he could protest, Dean pressed on.

"Look, a little time off, that's all I'm asking. And no more staring into the horizon with doe eyes. You look like you've never seen one before."

Sam glanced back at the sea and shrugged. It was a nice sight, that was for sure. Cascading shades of light orange and golden yellow were falling over the rippling waves, turning them into a rolling sea of gold, as surely as Midas' touch. Long palm trees stretched over the sand dunes and cast warm shadows as parents started corralling their children and couples started collecting their towels and tanning lotion. The boardwalk was filled with laughter and talking, as people walked to and from the small mall that stood at the end of the beach, where the two Winchesters were headed. He took a deep breath, one that tasted of salt and sun block, and looked at Dean.

"Never been on a beach. We went to one in Miami, but we never actually set foot on the sand and it was so busy that I could barely see the water anyway." He shrugged, like it was no big deal.

_Oh, great._ Dean could see that he had that look in his eye, that one that said he'd be thinking about this for a long time afterwards and the elder brother wanted to hit his forehead a couple of times on the nearest palm tree. He'd envisioned a restaurant with accommodating waitresses and good beer, not sand in his boxers and whiny children. But there was no going around that expression on Sam's face and especially not those eyes, even though they weren't aimed at him yet.

… _I'm so going to regret this._

"Well. We can always stop here and go down to the water for a little while." He knew he wasn't exactly enthusiastic, but Sam didn't even hear the hesitation. He'd refocused on Dean's face and the light in his eyes was more lively than Dean'd seen since the week had begun.

"You sure? Because, I mean, I know you don't-"

"Oh come on, how bad can it be?" He waved his hands and tried not to think about it. "Go on, before I change my mind." Sam gave him this look, like I-could've-gone-down-there-without-your-sayso, but he was already striding off, putting his hands in his pockets and stepping onto the sand carefully. There was a long pause and then he knelt, picking up a handful of sand and letting it filter through his fingers. The look on his face made Dean's throat contract and he glanced away for a moment, watching a particularly busty blonde walk down the boardwalk without much interest, which only takes him by surprise after he looked back at Sam.

His little brother was standing at the wave's edge, kneeling again, and he ran his hand through the water and picked up a seashell and wow.. _He looks so young._ There was an innocence in the way he investigated the shell that made Dean sigh a bit as he stepped off the boardwalk and approached Sam, but not so closely that he'd break the kid's concentration.

A young boy toddled up to Sam and stumbled, grabbing the shoulder nearest him for balance. Dean jerked, knowing that's the shoulder that got slashed and from the wince and flex in Sam's jaw, he knew his kid brother felt it too. But Sammy controlled his reaction in order to keep from knocking the child over and steadied the boy. His mouth moved as he asked the kid something. The boy turned around with some difficulty, as he's clinging to Sam's arm now, and pointed at a woman who was trying to get another boy to stop chasing the seagulls, while holding a baby in her arms and wrestling with said baby.

Sam nodded and stood, bending over to hold the kid's hand as they make their way over to the tousled mother, who was startled and very grateful when Sammy showed up with her younger son. Dean watches as Sam knelt again and said something to the little boy, before pressing a shell into the kid's hand and saying something to his mother. Then he stood back up and walked over to Dean, who watched him curiously.

"Did you get her number?" Dean asked after a short pause.

"Bite me." An exasperated Sam replied. "She's just a busy mom. Her hands are full. She has, like, five kids. I can come up with more reasons, if you like."

"Hands are full." Dean smirked and Sam groaned.

"Seriously, Dean? Come on. You're probably hungry. Let's go find that bar you've been pining after." Sam said, shaking his head and doing that little exasperated lopsided grin as they got back on the boardwalk and set out for the mall. Dean glanced sideways at him and then asked,

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sam nodded, still amused, but there's a part of it that Dean wanted to identify as happiness.

"I'm good, Dean. It was a nice beach."

"Uh-huh. That's good." Dean nodded and looked forward, losing the battle and smiling, just a little bit, himself.


	3. Hourglass

**~!~ Yes, I know, I fail. Lost my list of words. My best friend's actually working on a new one now. So there should be a lot more headed your way. Review away, dears! I'm going to try to keep them from going over five hundred words and my goal is to get one under a hundred. Not that my rambling mind could possibly do that, but you never know. Please let me know what you think and what you want to see! ~!~**

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><p>There's something eerie about clocks, Dean decided, watching the hands move with narrowed eyes. He felt as if the clock was working against him, counting down the minutes of his life. He swallowed and glanced down at his clasped hands. <em>It's an inanimate object.<em> He reminded himself, trying to make it sound a little more sensible. _The clock's not glaring at you. Chill._

It was four in the morning and he figured the sun was a long way away. Sam was in the bed opposite him, turned on his side away from Dean. From here, Dean could just see the splash of dark brown hair against the stark white pillow, the long legs that spilled off the bed that was just a few inches too small. Dean snorted quietly and shook his head.

_I'm running out of time._ A loud gong sounded, announcing the fourth hour, and Dean glared at the clock.

"You and me," he pointed at himself, "are going to have a long talk while Sam's out getting food, all right?" He said it quietly, but no less venomously, and was rewarded with Sam's shifting beneath the covers, muttering something under his breath.

Dean could almost imagine that conversation.

"_Well, no. Clocks just don't agree with me." _

Blank stare.

"_They don't! They make weird noises. And count down time."_

"_Dude. That's what they're for."_

Yeah, no. The last thing he needed was for Stanford-almost-graduate staring at him with more than the pain in his gaze now. Sam spent too much of his time worrying. They'd figure something out. Damn the clocks. They'd figure it out.


	4. Shoes

**~!~ Still not a hundred, but it's getting closer! I think. Review! For cookies and my love. =D Also, if you find any grammatical mistakes or spelling errors, please inbox me about them and I will happily take a request that is not too far out of my range. Thanks! ~!~**

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><p>"Man, there'd better be a cute chick in here." Dean grumbled as he stared at the shoe store like he thought it might bite him somehow. Sam gave him a look as he shoved his hands in his pockets and pushed his way in.<p>

"You've been shopping before, it won't kill you."

"No, but Dad might if I let faulty shoes be the reason a ghost ganks you." Dean muttered, following his brother into the shoe store.

"Hey, there. How can I help you gentlemen?"

Dean sighed into Sam's back, thankfully obscured from the elderly lady who was gracing them with her kind gaze. Sam, of course, responded with perfect people skills.

"Yes, ma'am. I need-"

"Sasquatch-size, if you have that." Dean grinned from behind Sam and was rewarded for his wit by a stern look. _Okay, then._

"You were saying, sir?" They had their little conversation while Dean watched a blonde walk by, and then turned back to Sam as the manager went off to get him some shoes to try on.

"Weren't you just telling me about your gift with women?" Sam asked, smirking. Dean snorted.

"This is opposed to your gift with men and old ladies who belong in nursing homes." Sam glared at him and then had to try not to laugh.

"What? You-"

"This old lady would like to help her customer now."

_Great._


End file.
